


there's nothing left of my old life to spare

by bluebismuth



Series: TMA Fic (Misc.) [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Emotionally Repressed, M/M, Pining, peter is talked about but he's not actually There
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24499834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebismuth/pseuds/bluebismuth
Summary: Elias wants Peter back. The king of the new world should get what he wants, right?Takes place in the beginning of Season 5.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Series: TMA Fic (Misc.) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1770070
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56





	there's nothing left of my old life to spare

The Panopticon is just as he hoped. Elias can see _everything._

Not physically, of course. Even Jonah’s eyes can only see so much. For what it’s worth, they are still human eyes. But when he closes them, he sees the suffering he has wrought upon the world. The village with its seeping mold consuming the residents, the battlefield’s sacrifices and their never-ending blood, the cabin that holds his precious Archive.

He Knows that eventually, his Archive will come to the Panopticon. Whether to destroy him or to join him, he doesn’t know right now, but it will happen.

Even then, though...the feeling isn’t as satisfying as he would’ve thought. Yes, it will be his Archive, his creation, but...he isn’t a person anymore, at least not to Elias. The Archive is his possession, more than anything.

He turns his gaze in the direction of where the Lonely resides. Its fog is thick, permanent, eternal now that he has made it so. It’s unfortunate, he thinks, that Peter had to die so he could become king, but surely he can bring him back. Mold him out of the fog that clouded his everyday life. The Panopticon will smell like saltwater and be significantly more humid, but it will be...normal? Yes, normal seems appropriate.

All the power at his fingertips is very nice and all, but some semblance of his past life would be _perfect._

— — —

Elias considers himself to be good at waiting. What is patience, if not waiting two centuries for your plans to unfold?

Peter still hasn’t come, even though Elias Knows he has asked it to the world at his fingertips. _Bring him back,_ he commanded some time ago (even he’s not sure of how much time has passed since then). He has watched the Lonely—not incessantly, mind, but it’s been in the back of his head. Like usual, he has seen people wander in and never leave, but Peter should be the exception. Nevertheless, he has never emerged, alive and heading towards the Panopticon.

What could he possibly want that’s in the Lonely, but not in the Panopticon? He couldn’t still be saying goodbye to his home; that was something that always came easy to him.

The Archive has, indeed, left the cabin. Elias is just surprised that Martin somehow still wants to be around the monster that has been molded out of his dear Jon. Elias Knows Martin wants to kill him. As if he’ll be able to now.

Elias wants to lament the fact that he doesn’t have a companion at the top of his tower, but he shuts that down right away. Peter _will_ come, whether he wants to or not. And he will get to overlook Elias’s kingdom with him, and drink in every fear, not just what the fog brings him.

— — —

It has been far too long for Elias. He’s tired of waiting.

He Opens his Eyes, the Ceaseless Watcher at his fingertips as it penetrates the Lonely, making everyone inside feel so terribly, awfully Known. Their suffering feeds him, and he feels the power surging through him as he looks for Peter among the victims.

Peter is not there.

Elias clenches his fist, restraining himself from yelling in frustration. It will do nothing, despite his power. “Bring him back to me, Ceaseless Watcher. I will _not_ ask again.”

Before all of this, he would’ve thought it ridiculous to ask his god to bring someone back from the dead—someone who couldn’t be easily touched by it, no less. But _he_ was king now. He oversaw the Entities and used them to his whim (although the Beholding came easiest to him; it always did). Witnessing Peter’s death was crushing, although he would never admit such a thing to him. He _needed_ him back, and all other gods be damned, he was going to have him.

He felt jealous of the Archive, in that moment. No one to praise him when he exercised his power, no one to keep him company in the horrific world he’d made. 

Elias never understood why Peter liked the Lonely so much.

— — —

And yet, Elias waits.

It is agony. Every day, hour, _minute_ that Peter isn’t by his side is growing more and more painful. 

Elias only waits because he doesn’t want to stoop so low, and yet...the temptation is growing stronger every day. Perhaps some part of him is still, unfortunately, human.

He restrains himself still, if only marginally. He doesn’t punch the wall in frustration on his way out of the Panopticon. The domains he passes through Know who he is, and the horrors contained within leave him alone. The fire licks at his shoes but does not burn them, and the dark threatens to cloak him but backs down in the presence of his Eyes.

Finally, Elias stands at the edge of the Lonely. The fog stretches out from its seemingly impenetrable wall, curling around his fingers and arms. If Peter wasn’t so frigid in his life, he would think he was being welcomed, greeted like they had so many times after he got off of the _Tundra._ But those were never warm, always a simple exchange of names between the two of them, never overly laced with any emotion.

So why is he like this now? Why now, of all the times to want Peter back? Is it true that absence makes the heart grow fonder?

Elias sighs. He has no need to question things when he can simply Know them. And yet...when he ponders it, he does not want to know the answers. He does not need to know them to bring Peter back.

His gaze pierces the Lonely, and it parts for him, waves separating from the bottom of the sea as he walks. He can see through the fog, seeing the individuals trapped in its obfuscation. He does not care for their plight; rather, he feeds on their suffering and moves along. After all, none of them are Peter.

Elias does not know how long he travels for, drinking from the Lonely’s victims as he searches for the man he betted with on this very apocalypse. Perhaps if he was more sentimental he would see it as something more, but he has no use for that kind of emotion now. All he knows is that the Lonely is not as big as it seems when one is in the middle of it, and he can tell by just how close some of the people are, but never being able to see each other. They do not have the ability to see through the fog like he does.

Elias Knows he has searched every corner of the Lonely for Peter. He Knows this was supposed to be his domain, the one he ruled over. Perhaps it can still persist without an avatar to control it, rule over it. But Peter is not there. 

Elias leaves the Lonely as easily as he entered it, but this time there is no fog clinging to his heels. No misshapen hands grasp at him, nothing sinks him into the briny deep. It is as if the Fears are afraid of _him_ as he walks back to the Panopticon.

_“Damn you!”_ he yells, kicking one of the spires that reaches up into his main room. It does not crumble under his feet, and the lack of satisfaction makes everything worse. _“Damn you all!”_ He does not know who he is condemning, nor does he care, as he topples the desk and sends the quill and ink, the papers flying. 

His next yell is wordless, but it rings throughout the Panopticon, makes his throat ache and burn. He kicks a nearby bookshelf, sending some of the books on it tumbling to the floor. As he pants, some of his hair falls in his face, and he’s...crying?

Elias fervently wipes the tears from his cheeks. There is nothing more vulnerable. 

He only keeps his head level long enough to reach the main window of the Panopticon, where he hangs it in anger, sadness, shame, or some horrific amalgamation of the three. 

“Goddamn you, Peter Lukas.” Elias’s voice is hoarse as he grips the edge of the window, knuckles turning white. “Goddamn you.”

He can never, will never bring himself to say what he truly means.

_I made a mistake, letting my Archive kill you. All I want is for you to come back. Because I love you._


End file.
